


The Last Race

by Bobblychicken



Category: Cars (Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-Shot. It was already a widely-known fact to everyone that racers often die young, whether from accidents or just the constant strain that they put their bodies through, and it really wasn’t helping that Dusty Crophopper had never learned the meaning of the words “pace yourself”. The smart ones would make their money and retire early, but as it happens Dusty starts to come to terms with that creeping feeling of wear and tear and has decided to throw one last hurrah before retiring. However, Dusty's body has taken all the abuse it can stand and it can stand no more. Maybe this last rally was just one race too much?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Race

Dusty was so far behind already, but he had to land. He was burning up and his whole body was in agony. He needed a breather. Just a small one, he told himself as he started dropping down to the desert floor. He landed roughly enough, having lost all strength to control his descent about 10 feet from the ground. He was sobbing for breath as he rolled to a stop, steam coming up from under his hood. As he tried in vain to recover himself, he was vaguely aware of the sound of liquid pattering into the dust below him. Confusion passed gropingly across his face before he slowly looked around for the source of the noise. Then out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. He let out a soft breath. A dark fluid dripped steadily from his left engine exhaust. How long had that been happening? He hadn’t even noticed that anything had busted.

Dusty’s frame seemed to sag into his landing gear then, eyes staring blankly ahead at nothing. His breathing had calmed down, coming out in soft, shallow puffs, but his engine hadn’t cooled down in the slightest since he’d landed. The heat was starting to make him delirious. Blackness was slowly creeping in from the edges of his vision and his hearing started fade out as if he were water-logged. He stumbled on his wheels when his sight became obscured completely as he was overcome with a sickening feeling similar to falling out of the sky. He squeezed his eyes shut and trembled, waiting for it to pass. He opened his eyes again only to see utter blackness still, and at first he thought he actually hadn't opened them for a moment. He wanted to cry out in anguish but lacked the strength to even do so currently.

Slowly, his vision started coming back into focus. He was colorblind at first, but color started slowly seeping back into the environment around him, but with it came odd pops of shapes and wisps of unnatural colors that would flit in and out of the air. Heat from his engine rippled, shimmered, and danced in front of his eyes, encouraging his delirium. The hallucinations only seemed to gather more clarity as he tried to shake them off. Then he froze. He recognized the silhouette of one of the larger apparitions. Not possible. But who else could those gull-wings belong to?

“Skipper!” Dusty managed to push out, his voice full of tears.

He wasn’t real. None of this was real. Dusty knew it to be so, but in his current mental state he figured that it was only natural that someone who was supposed to be dead would suddenly appear standing in front of him. Skipper was the one person that he wanted most to be with him right now. The features were still blurred and unfocused, but somehow Dusty thought he seemed to be annoyed as they stared at one another.

“Skipper…?” The apparition didn’t move. Didn’t speak, only kept rippling in and out of focus. “I’m tryin’ Skip… I’m trying to do what you taught me.” Dusty let out a tearful sigh, “But it’s just not going to happen this time.”

He was done for; it was over. But it was becoming so hard to let it go with his deceased mentor gazing down on him. Suddenly the wind whipped around them and Skipper’s form started losing it’s integrity.

“Skipper… Skipper! Don’t go, Skipper!” Tears started to flood his panic-filled eyes, almost in near hysterics as he called after his hallucinations to no avail. “Please, don’t go!”

And then he was alone again. He felt unsteady on his landing gear. He squeezed his eyes shut again, his tears cutting grooves into the dust and dirt and the dark liquid that continued to leak steadily and freely down his nose. In all his years alive and competing in races, pushing himself to the brink of destruction in a fare few of them, he had never quite felt it like he was feeling it now. He had never felt so worn down. As if all the years gone by were all crashing down on him just in this moment.

And yet, as angry, defiant sobs wracked his already pained form, he kicked his engine up into gear and started to roll forward. He slowly gained speed, in spite of himself. Finally, Dusty bit his tongue to keep from screaming as he took off from the ground, watching it fall away below him. He felt like he was going to come apart any second, but he had to carry on. He was going to win this one last race even if it killed him. So long as even a single piece of him made it over that finish line first, he figured that he could be satisfied with that. A shadow passed overhead, and a gull-winged shape wheeled out in front of him before melting away again. A determined smile spread across Dusty’s face. He remembered something that Skipper had told him, almost ominously, and just a little bit before the tragic day that he'd unexpectedly took his leave.

_“You know the funny thing about time is that, although it makes you wise, it also makes you weak. Maybe it's just to give you a hint for when to give it up.” His breath seemed to quiver with fatigue. “Sorry. I'm getting old... You tend to ramble a bit when you're my age.”_

“This is my last stand.” Dusty breathed out in rebellious exhaustion. “See you at the finish line.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Here I am being a Debbie Downer again. But seriously, this is pretty much the only end I can see in sight for our little Dusty. It's often the price one pays for being as driven as he is. I'll write something happy next time, I promise.


End file.
